Today’s generation of Alaska Native children lives in a world that balances ancient traditions with modern culture. No other book for children delves into all ten Native cultures with such authority or transports readers to the wild rivers, coastal islands, broad rainforest, and tundra expanses of Alaska. Children of the First People is a rare treasure.
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CHILDREN FIRST PEOPLE
Children of the First People profiles ten boys and girls, each one representing a unique culture that has thrived in the far north for centuries: Iñupiat, Eyak, Yup’ik, Haida, Athabascan, Unangax (Aleut), Tlingit, Alutiiq, Tsimshian, and Siberian Yupik. The kids open up like Alaskan pen pals, sharing how they hunt and fish for healthy Native food, celebrate with traditional dancing and drumming, and compete in Eskimo-Indian games like nothing you’ve seen before. So different, perhaps, but still like kids all over who watch their favorite NBA teams, shop for clothes online, and listen to new music.
BROWN • CORRAL
Celebrating the 20th anniversary of their critically acclaimed Children of the Midnight Sun, author Tricia Brown and photographer Roy Corral return to introduce a new generation of Alaska Native children to readers everywhere.
Children of the
First People Fresh Voices of Alaska’s Native Kids
Profiles by Tricia Brown
Photographs by Roy Corral
Children of the First People Fresh Voices of Alaska’s Native Kids
Profiles by Tricia Brown Photographs by Roy Corral
For Robert, John, Katiana, Selina, Andrea, Danny, Josh, and Tauni. Acknowledgments: Thank you Jennifer Newens, Olivia Ngai, Rachel Lopez Metzger, and Angela Zbornik of West Margin Press, and sincere thanks to our editor, Michelle McCann. We are grateful for your love and patience, Scooter Bentson, Perry Brown, and Kierra Morris. To the parents of the children and to others who supported us, you were invaluable. Thank you Tony Christianson and Jody Sanderson; Selina Tolson; Mary Beth Moss and Owen James; Don Starbard; Robert Starbard, Darlene See, Julie Jackson, and David See, Hoonah Indian Association; Jolene King; Bambi Jack; Sherry Mills; Jacob Pratt, Zach Inglesby, Ralph M. Watkins; Rosita Kaa háni Worl, Sealaska Heritage Institute and Sealaska Corporation; David Sparck; Sephora Lestenkoff; Chris Carmichael; Zachary Bastoky; Carla and Patrick Snow; Lance and Corina Kramer; Clement Richards, Sr.; Kristen Dau; Qaqutuk Janine Saito; Nick and Sara Tiedeman; Sheri Buretta, Chugach Alaska Corporation; Cybill and Nick Berestoff; Larry and Gail Evanoff; Doug Penn; Mike Hanley; Rebecca Gue; Dennis Fawcett; Rev. Larry Emery; Sue Scudero; Rev. Evon and Aquilina Bereskin; Bobbie Lekanoff; Okalena Patricia Lekanoff-Gregory; Ray Hudson and Rachel Mason; Ounalashka Corporation; Karen Cresh; Irene Adams; Joanna Hinderberger; Diana McCarty, William Flitt; Yaari Toolie; Alaska Native Heritage Center.
Text © 2019 by Tricia Brown Photographs © 2019 by Roy Corral Edited by Michelle McCann All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the publisher. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file. ISBN 9781513261973 (paperback) ISBN 9781513261980 (hardbound) ISBN 9781513261997 (ebook) Published by Alaska Northwest Books An imprint of West Margin Press
WestMarginPress.com Proudly distributed by Ingram Publisher Services Printed in China
WEST MARGIN PRESS Publishing Director: Jennifer Newens Marketing Manager: Angela Zbornik Editor: Olivia Ngai Design & Production: Rachel Lopez Metzger
CO N T E N T S Introduction 5 Tyler Kramer, Iñupiat 6 Aaliyah Tiedeman, Eyak 10 Ethan Sparck, Yup’ik 14 Juuyāay Christianson, Haida 18 Hunter McCarty, Athabascan 22 Cyanna Bereskin, Unangax̂ (Aleut) 26 Leah Moss, Tlingit 30 Alyson Seville, Alutiiq 34 James Williams, Tsimshian 38 Allyssa Asicksik, Siberian Yupik 42 Glossary 46
AL A SK A
Native Homelands
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Valdez Whittier
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Prince William Sound
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EYAK Yakutat
Cordova
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Klukwan
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Egegik
Hoonah Kodiak
ALUTIIQ
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Unalaska U I U I
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ALUTIIQ ATHABASCAN EYAK ˜ HAIDA INUPIAT SIBERIAN YUPIK TLINGIT TSIMSHIAN UNANGAX̂ YUP'IK Homelands map info © Alaska Native Language Center, UAF
Introduction: A New Generation Speaks Long before the words of Alaska’s first people
cultures and crisscrossed the state by small plane,
were written in books, elders taught lessons by word
ferry, and road. We rode on four-wheelers and
of mouth and by example. Each new generation
behind snowmachines. We talked to families in
learned their culture’s ways of living and how to thrive
every corner of Alaska.
in their distant homes. Some lived in the rainforest;
After the book came out, we heard from readers
others in the Arctic. Some survived temperatures as
in other states, saying things like, “That girl in the
cold as -50°F; others experienced a toasty 80°F. Their
picture . . . she’s just wearing jeans and a T-shirt
foods and housing and cultural memories were vastly
like any other kid!” Yes, I’d answer, she really is
different, but still, all were Alaskan.
just like any other kid. I explained that the children
Through the centuries and across the cultures,
don’t go around in their special regalia every day
these important lessons have remained unchanged:
(those clothes are for cultural gatherings). And just
show respect, take care of where you live, have
like you, they struggle with homework and peer
patience, pray for guidance, share what you have,
pressure. They play basketball, spend too much time
honor your elders, and more.
gaming, and argue with their brothers. They imagine
For today’s Alaska Native children, culture classes are available in public and private school, yet everyday life is still their classroom. Haida master artisans show
what they want to be someday. Sometimes they wish they could be somebody else. On the other hand, where else can a kid say their
youngsters how to carve cedar totem poles, masks,
ancestors have lived here for 10,000 years? And who
and containers. Yup’iks who know which plants to
can imagine tasting whale blubber, or drying kelp for
pick for medicine invite children to come along and
a snack, or deftly tracking a moose, bear, caribou,
learn. Siberian Yupik apas (grandfathers) expertly read
rabbit, walrus, or seal? We discovered that Alaska
the weather and advise when it’s safe to go out for
Native kids are like all kids in some ways, but they
bowhead whales. Tlingit uncles bring kids along as
don’t realize how special they are. They seem to
they hunt for deer or fish for salmon, sharing stories
think, “Isn’t everybody like me?”
and cultural history while they train.
Time has passed since that first book, and a new
So have the children been paying attention?
generation of Native kids is ready to speak. For this
Are they remembering what they’ve been taught?
book, we decided to include all ten cultures, so we
Do they know what makes their particular culture
added the Siberian Yupik, Alutiiq, and Eyak people.
unique? Many years ago, photographer Roy Corral
From the Southeast rainforest to the Yukon-
and I asked those questions. To find answers, we set
Kuskokwim Delta tundra, to the reaches of the far
out to interview and photograph eight Alaska
north, traditional Native knowledge is still passed
Native boys and girls for a book titled Children of the
along. The children in this generation have been
Midnight Sun. With help from village leaders and
handed the precious gift of ancient heritage to carry
friends, we chose one child from each of the biggest
into the future. We hope you enjoy meeting them. 5
IÑUPIAT Tyler Kramer Kotzebue
Ten-year-old Tyler Kramer is smiling as
then reconsiders. “We have one, I think.” Tyler’s dad,
he begins his story, “Why Ground Squirrels Have
Lance, laughs and adds, “Somebody planted it over
Short Tails.” He learned it from an elder just yesterday
by the base, an Air Force guy. We called it the
during Iñupiat [en-NEW-pee-at] Day at school, a
Kotzebue National Forest. They had guys guarding
chance for kids of all cultural backgrounds to learn
it and everything.”
about this region’s first people. “So, there was a Ground Squirrel out of his hole,
Tyler’s nickname is TyTy, and his Iñupiaq names are Alasuk, after a respected elder, and Tavra, for “all
and Raven was guarding it,” Tyler begins. “And the
done” (which his mom declared after Tyler, her fifth
Ground Squirrel said, ‘If you would sing, then I’ll
child, was born). The entire family works together in a
dance to it.’ And then the Ground Squirrel said, ‘Now
“subsistence lifestyle,” what Alaskans call fishing and
close your eyes . . .’ And then, ‘It would be better if
hunting for food, not for sport. The Kramers hunt
you sang with your legs a little bit more open . . .’ And
caribou, moose, musk oxen, seals, and a variety of fish.
Raven did that. And the Ground Squirrel ran through
They pick greens and berries, and collect seagull eggs
his legs to the hole. But the Raven grabbed its tail,
just as the Iñupiats have done for countless centuries.
and the tail came off!” Ancient stories from Alaska’s
Tyler went on his first hunt when he was about six
far north can hold life lessons for listeners . . . and for
years old and last year caught his first caribou. He
ground squirrels too!
prefers the sea, however, especially spring seal
In many ways, every day is Iñupiat Day in
hunting. “We don’t get much whales here,” he
Kotzebue, Tyler’s hometown. It lies above the Arctic
explains. In villages further north, other Iñupiats
Circle at the tip of a peninsula. If Tyler could look over
depend heavily on whales and walruses.
the curve of the ocean, he’d see Russia. Even on land,
About 13,500 Iñupiats live on the North Slope,
there’s not much to block his view. “No trees,” he says,
a region that sweeps from Norton Sound north and
Facing: Near midnight, Tyler is bathed in the last rays of a spring sun above the Arctic Circle. Above, left: Tyler learned how to bead from his aana (grandmother) and has several projects in progress. Right: Tyler is the youngest child in the Kramer family. From left is Cody, parents Corina and Lance, and Cassidy. Two other sisters are not pictured.
7
Above, left: In the centuries-old one-foot kick game, Tyler must jump, hit the ball with one foot, then land on the same foot. Right: Three “Eskimojis” pose on the high school gym floor.
eastward across the top of Alaska to the Canada
for foxes and rabbits. His aana (grandmother) teaches
border. Their traditional homeland experiences some
him how to sew mittens and parkas.
of the harshest winters on the planet—the coldest cold, the longest dark. Only about 3,000 people speak
smoker; a fish rack on the beach dries uġruk (bearded
Iñupiaq, their Native language, so teachers are
seal) meat in the spring, salmon and whitefish in the
working to improve that. Before a basketball game at
summer. The family shares their harvest with those
the high school, where the Kotzebue Huskies host the
who have less, especially with elders, an important
Bethel Warriors, the Nome-Beltz Nanooks, or the
aspect of Tyler’s Iñupiaq heritage as well as his
Barrow Whalers, spectators start the evening with the
Christian faith.
Pledge of Allegiance . . . in Iñupiaq. Adults want the next generation to know what it
Tyler has learned not only how to survive, but to thrive. He likes hamburgers and fries, but his favorite
means to be Iñupiat, which means “The People” in
is Native food, like beluga muktuk (skin and blubber)
English. Other Alaska Native cultures also refer to
with mustard, uġruk, and his mother’s aqutuq
themselves, each in a unique language, as “The
[uh-qoo-tooq], Eskimo ice cream.
People” or “The Real People.” Culture lessons aren’t
8
Out back a refrigerator has been converted into a
Not everything in this family is traditional,
always taught at a desk, however. Everyday life is the
however. Tyler stars in his mom’s social media videos
classroom. Tyler learns from his dad, a local church
and posts titled “The Life of Ty.” Hundreds follow
pastor and set-net fisherman, who also traps for furs
the adventures of this Eskimo boy living above the
and tans hides to sell to skin-sewers. Tyler sets snares
Arctic Circle.
This afternoon the Noatak team has flown in
came up to Kotzebue, he was proud to teach them
for a basketball game against Tyler’s team, the
about his corner of the country . . . and do a little
“Eskimojis.” As usual, boosters are selling candy, chips,
myth busting about the Iñupiat.
and T-shirts with the Eskimoji logo—a smiling cartoon Eskimo face—and the question, “You cold, bro?” Tyler buys one. In Alaska, it’s okay to call these northernmost people “Eskimo,” but some prefer just Iñupiat (for the group) or Iñupiaq (for a single person, language, or culture). In Canada’s far north, however, the word Eskimo is insulting; they want to be called Inuit. The people of the North Slope are crazy about basketball, but they also compete in ancient games that built muscle, endurance, and balance in hunters. At Christmas and New Year’s, and during the Native Youth Olympics, everybody turns out to watch the one-foot kick, two-foot kick, stick pull, leg wrestling, ear pull, three-man carry, and knuckle hop. Almost all of them are pain-makers. Tyler once won the one-foot kick for his age, jumping up from a standing position and kicking one foot at a ball hanging 53 inches off the ground, then landing back on the same foot. That’s more than four feet straight up. Two summers ago, the family flew to Anchorage, piled into an RV, and drove “Outside” (what Alaskans call anyplace that’s not Alaska). They roamed Canada and drove as far south as Texas. Tyler rode horses, walked among the tallest trees he’d ever seen, helped “peel” corn on the cob, and fished for trout in a campground pond until security cameras set off a squealing alarm. The owners asked him to stop—he’d caught too many fish. On that trip, Tyler learned a lot about how other people live Outside. So when visitors from Idaho Top: A one-dog “team” named Jaxxi pulls her boy on the ice of the Chukchi Sea. Bottom: Ice-fishing is a favorite. Here, Tyler was hoping to catch a sheefish.
“They kept saying, ‘I thought you guys lived in igloos, man!’” He laughs. “Um . . . no.”
EYAK
Aaliyah Tiedeman Cordova
Growing up in Cordova sets Aaliyah
resources. It’s like a protected area now. You can’t dig
Tiedeman apart. First, by geography: Cordova is
artifacts up.”
nestled at the base of Eyak Mountain on the Gulf
The Eyaks are the fewest in number among all of
of Alaska’s Orca Inlet, surrounded by deep forests,
Alaska’s first people. They clashed with neighboring
migratory bird nesting areas, and sparkling water.
cultures to protect their hunting and fishing
The town is unreachable by road, so everyone comes
grounds. The Alutiiqs lived to the west, Athabascans
and goes on planes or ferries (aka the Blue Canoes)
to the north, and just beyond their eastern border,
of the Alaska Marine Highway.
the mighty Tlingit. Eyak identity has survived
Cordova was a mining boomtown that was
through border disputes, a shrinking population,
officially organized in 1906. It was the end of the line
intermarriage, and the death of the last Eyak Native
for the Copper River & Northwestern Railway and a
language speaker.
deep-water port for outgoing gold, silver, and copper.
Nearly all of today’s Eyaks are a blend of cultures,
But centuries before the miners arrived, the Eyak
including Aaliyah. Her father, Nick, has Unangax̂
[EE-yack] people lived in villages throughout this
(Aleut), Tlingit, and Athabascan ancestors. Her
region. The place was and is bountiful—deer, fish,
mother is from the Upper Midwest and is part
birds, and marine mammals for food and clothing;
Chippewa Indian. Together, Aaliyah’s parents teach
tall, thick trees for building homes and making art.
their three daughters about living traditionally. They
“There was no town,” Aaliyah says. “This was just
built their own cabin, fish and hunt for meat, and can
all trees. There were villages at Eyak Lake and other
fish. They also preserve berry and currant jams, jellies,
places. They used the Alaganik Slough to catch reds
and sauces to last until the next summer.
and silvers [salmon]. They just used all the natural
Each year, grades six and under participate in the
Facing: Aaliyah explores the small-boat harbor’s protective breakwater along Orca Inlet. Above, left: Wearing traditional regalia, Aaliyah and other Eyak Dancers perform at the elementary school. Right: At Nuuciq Spirit Camp, she created a model based on her ancestors’ kayaks.
11
As a reward for passing hunter safety class, Aaliyah’s parents gave her a pink camo rifle.
school’s Culture Week, where elders share language
Hall, the modern museum and library, and the Ilanka
skills, traditional crafts, and old stories. In summers,
Cultural Center. They walk the fishing docks and enjoy
Aaliyah’s creative side blooms at Nuuciq [NEW-check]
seafood at local restaurants. There are no traffic lights
Spirit Camp.
here. The one flashing light is for the school zone.
“I’m really, really artistic,” she says. “So I’ll do a lot
Each February since 1961, itchy for spring, locals
of skin-sewing. I’ve probably done about fifty things
have hosted the Iceworm Festival. There are games,
with skin-sewing and beading.” Using furs of seals and
food, and a Miss Iceworm competition with a $2,500
sea otters, she has made wallets, pillows, and beautiful
scholarship prize. When she’s old enough, Aaliyah
bags. At camp, her imagination casts back to the
hopes to enter. The parade finale features the town
ancestors who walked this land and kayaked these
mascot, a blue iceworm, slithering down the street like
waters. This year she made a model kayak.
a Chinese dragon, dozens of Cordovans walking inside.
“It’s like the real thing,” Aaliyah says. “That’s
“It has a huge face,” Aaliyah says. “The person in
exactly how they used to make it. Wood floats,
the front, they have to work hard to keep the head
obviously, but they needed to put a cover on it, and it
up. And you kind of move it up and down.
was seal or sea-lion skin, but we used nylon.” Aaliyah’s little hometown is a popular destination for tourists exploring its historic streets, the Pioneer 12
“We do have iceworms here,” she adds. “It’s not a fairy tale.” Aaliyah’s right. Since the mysterious worms were discovered in 1887, scientists have learned
they’re only a few centimeters long, and that living on
She also loves basketball, both watching it and
glacial ice suits them fine. If the temperature soars to
playing it. Plus there’s listening to music while
40°F, iceworms actually melt and die from the heat.
working out, spending time with friends, babysitting,
Most Cordova residents fish commercially or work in fish-processing plants. They were deeply affected when the Exxon Valdez tanker went
and schoolwork. She’s in advanced math and plans to study sports medicine someday. As much as she has learned, Aaliyah still has many
aground in 1989 and brought disaster to their
questions for her teachers. Not surprisingly for the
beloved Prince William Sound. The massive oil spill
future doctor, most are about health. “The medicine
killed birds, marine mammals, fish, and other wildlife.
men . . . how did they figure out the people who were
For families that fished and gathered food for
affected by this disease and what medicine they
survival, it was devastating.
needed? And how did the first Eyak people learn how
Aaliyah helps feed her family by dip-netting for salmon and deer hunting. Her .243 rifle, in pink camo, was a reward for passing the hunter safety course. She was thrilled to bring it on her first deer hunt. “We were in a marshy area where the deer beds were,” Aaliyah remembers. “We hiked up a couple hills; they weren’t that steep. There were little hemlocks—the perfect tree for a gun positioner—so when you shot, your gun would be steady.” Aaliyah and her father identified a small buck about sixty yards away. Her heart pounded as he coached her. “I was shaky—I was like, ‘Okay, calm down,’” Aaliyah says. “My dad was holding my shoulders and saying, ‘Steady breathing.’ Then I shot at it once, and it dropped. I was so proud of myself.” Afterward, Aaliyah followed the tradition of her people. “I thanked the animal, because I know my ancestors did it. They’ve given their life for you, for your family. That’s the first thing we do. Once you drop the animal, you go down there and thank it.” In the spring, Aaliyah will fly to Anchorage for the Native Youth Olympics. She’ll compete against girls from around the state in the Alaskan High Kick, which requires exceptional balance and strength. The Wolverines basketball team must travel many miles by plane and ferry to compete.
this plant was good [for medicine] and this plant wasn’t?” Aaliyah is still learning.
YUP’IK
Ethan Sparck Bethel
Some kids are playing on the swings and
the water, he thought it was one seal, but he got two
the slide; others are shooting baskets. The ball doesn’t
seals. One was hiding behind it.”
bounce on packed snow, but that’s okay. Everybody
Ethan translates the words of the song and
knows you can’t dribble, so they just pass and shoot.
explains its joyful ending. “The old man says, ‘Holy
Then lunchtime recess is over and it’s time to head
cow!’ when he sees that he got two seals, not just
in to Bethel’s Yup’ik [YOU-pick] immersion school
one.” In an ancient culture that has survived through
called Ayaprun Elitnaurvik, meaning “School of the
sharing food, a successful hunt means everything.
Bears.” Inside, students are swishing around in
Ethan is as good at drumming and singing,
unzipped coats and wet boots when the steady
speaking, and spelling Yugtun as he is at ice fishing,
rhythm of a half-dozen drums begins. A BOOM! rolls
basketball, Wii Mini-Golf, salmonberry picking, or his
out like a soft thunder clap. A pause, then another
latest hobby, knitting. It’s a follow-up to the crochet
BOOM! Again and again, and getting louder.
skills he learned at age nine from his mother and
Fifth-grader Ethan Sparck is among the drummers tapping taut fabric hoops with lightweight wands. Traditionally drums were made with seal or walrus
grandmother. Ethan has made dishrags, hats, scarves, potholders . . . he loves it. Later, at home, it’s a typical afternoon. Ethan
skins, or the stomachs of caribou or beluga whales.
announces that there’s no more room on his device to
But fabric is easier to stretch and won’t dry and
download even one more game, while his first-grade
crack. An adult drummer begins singing in Yugtun
brother Adam pleads, “Can I play on your tablet?”
[YOUX-toon], which these students speak and write
Their creaky old Golden Lab, Jena, is also hungry for
as well as English. In the early grades, all lessons and
attention as the brothers huddle. She hobbles over
conversations are in Yugtun. If you must speak in
and breathes on their laps.
English, you must whisper.
Ethan’s hometown of Bethel lies along the great
Boys and girls toss lunch leftovers and wander over, one or two at a time, to find a space among dancers facing the singer-drummers. Boys throw down their coats to kneel on the soft bundle with heels under their bottoms. Their arms, hands, and heads begin to move in unison. The girls join them, standing in rows behind the boys, according to tradition. Their words and motions tell a true story that was worthy of a song. “It was about a long time ago when people used powerful guns to go hunting out in the sea,” Ethan explains. “One time an old man saw a seal. He took his gun and shot that seal, and when it came out of Facing: An accomplished drummer and dancer, Ethan plays a drum that once belonged to his grandfather, Harold Sparck. Above: Bethel’s welcoming sign highlights its connection to the famous dogsled race that begins and ends on the Kuskokwim River.
15
Kuskokwim River in southwestern Alaska, a nearly
or boat. The exception is wintertime, when the
treeless region. Flying above it, the tundra seems to
Kuskokwim River freezes and becomes a snow-packed
have more ponds, wetlands, and rivers than solid land.
highway for trucks and fast-moving “snowmachines,”
Most of the people who live there are Yup’ik, meaning
as snowmobiles are called in Alaska. At spring “break-
“real person” in English.
up” in May, the ice groans and grinds and finally
Bethel is the go-to city for villagers along rivers in
breaks apart and floats out to sea—the Kuskokwim
the Yukon–Kuskokwim (YK) Delta. It’s where people
River comes alive again. All summer long, people go
fly for shopping, eating out, sports or cultural events,
fishing, and barges deliver large freight, like trucks
visiting, or traveling to and from Anchorage. Jets roar
and building materials.
in and out of Bethel every day. From small, outlying
In the 1800s, when non-Native missionaries settled
villages, people come in propeller-driven planes that
here along the river’s cut bank, the Yup’iks advised
can land on short airstrips at villages like Akiachak,
against it. The newcomers didn’t listen, however, so
Eek, or Chevak, where Ethan’s father, David, grew up.
year after year the river chewed away at the bank
Ethan’s grandfather was Harold Sparck, a white, Jewish
until the Moravian missionaries had to cut their
man from the East Coast who long ago moved to
wooden houses in half, top to bottom, so they could
Alaska and married a Cup’ik lady. He is remembered
drag the pieces away from the edge and then rejoin
for fighting for Natives’ rights.
them. Now there’s a seawall to protect the city.
As in most of Alaska, roads don’t link the villages out here. To travel between them, you need a plane
Ethan’s ancestors didn’t live in wooden houses. They preferred sod homes partially dug into the
Below, left: Knitting is a new hobby. Right: Ethan, his brother Adam, and a cousin play among the aluminum fishing boats in Bethel’s harbor.
ground for natural insulation. They moved with the seasons, knowing where the fish and game would be plentiful, where the ducks and geese would pause in their migrations, where the berries would be at their peak. By autumn, they would have food safely stored, ready for the cold, dark curtain of winter to fall. Winter meant ice fishing and trapping for fur-bearing animals, then sewing tanned animal skins for clothing and shelter. A common phrase in the Yup’ik region was “always getting ready.” Just two generations ago, Ethan’s Cup’ik grandmother was a little girl living in a traditional sod house and practicing the subsistence ways of her ancestors. “Driftwood held up the ceiling,” Ethan says. “They
The Sparck men—Ethan, Adam, and their father, David— step out on a windy day along the Kuskokwim.
would weave grass to make their beds. They hunted
caught sixty-two salmon in one day!” Some will be
lots of things like moose and seal, whales, rabbits, and
smoked, some frozen, some cooked fresh.
other kinds of animals that have fur to keep them warm. And the women would sew their clothes.” These days the Real People live in modern homes
In the fall, temperatures drop and river ice builds, sometimes reaching three or four feet thick. On the radio, Bethel Search and Rescue advises when it’s safe
and wear brand names or, like Ethan, jeans and a
to drive on the ice. Then it’s time to watch sled-dog
T-shirt. Sometimes an Adidas logo lies beneath a
racing or Ethan’s favorite, manaqing, ice fishing for pike.
traditional fur parka. Shoppers can buy packaged
“We don’t use a rod,” Ethan says. “We use a stick
chicken or hamburger, but most Yup’iks still prefer
with string and a hook on it. We make a hole with an
fresh fish and game they catch themselves. When he
auger, and then we unravel [the string] into the hole
eats out, Ethan likes bacon-fried rice, steamer clams,
to the bottom.” With pieces of blackfish as bait, Ethan
or sushi. At home, he’s big on soup: “We eat moose
will “jig” the line, jerking it slightly up and letting it
soup, seal soup, fish soup, bird soup, Canadian geese
fall. Later he will help cut and prepare their catch
soup, swan soup, mallard soup . . .”
using his own ulaq, a curved knife.
The Yup’ik people have lived a subsistence lifestyle
One afternoon, Ethan and his fellow Bears are
for centuries and continue to do so still today. When
playing indoor basketball against boys from Bethel’s
the salmon are running, Ethan and his family take out
other elementary school, the Cranes. They’re nearly
their small aluminum boat and use a “drift net” to
all friends or relatives and evenly matched. After the
trap passing fish.
Bears beat the Cranes, Ethan grins, remembering a
“We put the net over the edge of the back, then
friend’s pre-game trash talk. “He’s a Crane, so he said
we motor away,” he says. “Our net, it’s not very long,
to me, ‘You run . . . we SOAR!’” On this day, however,
so we’ll catch maybe ten in each drift. One time we
it’s Ethan’s turn to soar. 17
HAIDA
JuuyÄ ay Christianson Hydaburg
Juuyāay [JEW-eye] Christianson
piece. “I wore this when I was little.” On the front is an
plucks a deerskin drum off the living room wall to
image of a yellow sun with a Haida-style face. That’s
demonstrate how it’s played. The surface is painted
her: Juuyāay means “sun” in the Haida language. You
in the flattened, fantastic design of the Frog Clan
might expect to see cultural treasures like these in a
crest, Juuyāay’s people. The paint is worn where the
museum, but these pieces aren’t behind glass. They’re
wand has struck it again and again. Juuyāay waggles
always in reach, brought to life at a touch.
the drum stick with its “dance rattle” at the other end. A cluster of deer hooves makes a clacking sound. Next she unfolds a long red-and-black cape edged
To outsiders, the cultures of Southeast Alaska— the Haida, Tsimshian, and Tlingit people—look very similar. But each has its own unique regalia, totem
with rows of flat white buttons. Called a “robe,” it is
carvings, legends, histories, and ways of living. Like
designed to drape across the shoulders of a dancer,
other Native cultures, Haida traditions are centuries
worn as he or she sways and steps to the drum beats
old, yet cannot be separated from everyday life.
and singing. The drum, dance rattle, and robe are part
Dancing, drumming, singing, storytelling, and carving
of ceremonial “regalia” that Haida [HI-duh] people
are not boxed up and set aside for special occasions.
wear for dances, clan celebrations called potlatches,
They are just normal—as normal as cheering for
or other Native festivals. Juuyāay’s regalia items are
the Warriors in basketball regionals or taking selfies
family treasures, old and new, all handmade by loving
with friends.
aunties and grandmas.
Juuyāay’s home is Hydaburg, on a sheltered shore
“This one’s kinda small,” the twelve-year-old jokes
of Prince of Wales Island. Their ancestors came from
as she pokes her head through a toddler-sized regalia
an island group called Haida Gwaii (or “Islands of the
Facing: Hydaburg Totem Park lies just outside Juuyāay’s school. An Eagle, she wears her clan’s design on her regalia. Above: The village is reflected in the waters of Sukkwan Strait. Totem poles can be seen all over town.
19
People”), once known as the Queen Charlotte Islands,
neighbor may have a totem pole standing in the front
which lies just over the southern border in British
yard, and dinner may be venison and gravy over rice,
Columbia. People have lived on Haida Gwaii for about
or it may be frozen lasagna.
thirteen centuries, but sometime in the late 1700s,
This Alaskan town lies within a rainforest and gets
a group of Juuyāay’s ancestors canoed north and
more than 100 inches of rain each year, but little
resettled on Prince of Wales. These Alaskans are
snow. On this late January day, Juuyāay is walking
called Kaigani [kigh-GONE-ee] Haida and about
around in a tie-dyed sweatshirt and flip flops while
400 live in Hydaburg today.
a thousand miles away in Fairbanks, other Alaskan
Forests of spruce, cedar, and hemlock edge Hydaburg, and the clear Hydaburg River rushes through the trees to enter the ocean beside the
kids are booted up for below-zero temperatures and many feet of snow. The address for Juuyāay’s school is Totem Pole
elaborately carved and painted long house. Kids like
Lane, a clue for what students see outside the
to swim and fish there at the mouth of the river.
windows. Rows of totem poles form a rectangle
The town has no franchises: no fast food, fancy
around their green space. As totems decay, as they
coffee, or big-box stores. Many people are subsistence
often do in this rainforest climate, local artists carve
hunters and fishers or are from commercial fishing
them again, preserving their messages—honoring
families, and the ocean generously provides for all—
clans, remembering a great event, marking the death
salmon, halibut, clams, mussels, cockles, and crab.
of a dear one. Juuyāay loves the totem poles and
Hunters bring home deer meat. Planes and boats
confesses that she loves learning too.
bring in the rest of the grocery list and other goods, from furniture to cars to building supplies. Here, your
“Kids make it sound like school’s so bad. It’s not that bad,” she says. “And when I come home, I’m still
Above, left: The Christianson-Sanderson family includes Juuyāay’s dad Tony, mom Jody, and her sister, Ashley. Another sister is not pictured. Right: Out of school, cousins Ella Mooney and Juuyāay hang out in a local park.
20
learning things. I learn more about my culture every day. It’s a fun place to live, actually.” At home, Juuyāay sticks her head in the refrigerator
moiety. That means someday she will marry a Raven. This evening at Juuyāay’s home, the flat-screen TV stays dark after a delicious dinner of crab and deer
and announces, “The fridge contains literally nothing.
meat with lots of side dishes. Family and friends pick
I see some apples and oranges, some yogurt . . .” Later,
up drums and rattles, and many (from toddlers to
during a walk around town, a truck stops and Juuyāay’s
grandparents) dance to Haida songs. Mayor Tony is
dad jumps out for a hug. Tony Christianson is the
drumming and singing from his recliner. Auntie Selina
mayor and an accomplished master carver who’s
is checking her phone messages with one hand, while
always busy with something. But he pauses long
her other hand keeps rhythm on her thigh. Juuyāay’s
enough to give Juuyāay some money. At a little store,
two-year-old cousin is the star of the living room,
Juuyāay buys Hot Pockets, Flaming Hot Cheetos, some
beating his own tiny drum, cocking his head,
beef jerky, and a Pepsi. Thanks, Dad!
crouching and bouncing. Híilangāay [he-lung-eye],
“It’s not always easy growing up where everybody
which means “rolling thunder,” is wearing a dinosaur
knows you,” Juuyāay says. “When I was younger, I’d
T-shirt and Batman boots. He speaks Haida more
get bullied: ‘Oh, she’s the mayor’s daughter.’ I didn’t
often than English. With his cousin, the Sun, another
see it that way. I saw him as the guy I want to be
generation prepares to take its place in Haida history.
someday when I grow up. My dad is my inspiration.” In Hydaburg, a child’s identity begins not with their last name, but with the question “Raven or Eagle?” For many centuries, the Haidas’ strict social laws have stated that every person belongs to one of these two groups, called “moieties.” Each moiety is further divided into clans and sub-clans represented by crests of birds, fish, animals, insects, or reptiles— the figures you see on totem poles, traditional drums, dugout canoes, silver bracelets, and regalia. You can’t join the bear clan just because you like bears—you have to be born into it. Haida women, not men, hand down their clan identity to their children. So because Juuyāay’s mother, Jody, is an Eagle, then Juuyāay and her siblings are also Eagle. Their sub-clan crests are Hummingbird and Frog, so those symbols are proudly displayed on their regalia and totem art. According to Haida rules, Juuyāay can only marry someone from the opposite Living on an island means most families depend on the ocean for food, work, and play.
21
ATHABASCAN Hunter McCarty Fort Yukon
Perched at the foot of a bed, Hunter
-40°F, and woodstove smoke settles in a flat cloud
McCarty and his cousin, Ben, are focused on a laugh-
over the village of 600 people. Right now, the surface
filled game of Mario Kart. Standing on each side of the
of the wide, frozen Yukon River is a mess of buckled
older boys, two preschoolers jump and squeal as
ice and overflow, where water has squeezed up
Hunter and Ben blast around the course, elbows
through cracks. It’s too dangerous to drive trucks or
tilting and fingers flying on the remotes. Behind him,
snowmachines, or even to walk on the river. In late
Hunter’s favorite books share a shelf with his
March, winter will loosen its grip, and long days of
collection of bear claws. And out in the living room,
sunshine will warm Fort Yukon during Spring
an NBA game is blaring as Hunter’s mom, Diana,
Carnival, with its sled-dog races, Jig Dance, sleeping
cleans up after a dinner of king salmon, rice, and salad.
bag races, nail-driving contest, and a huge banquet.
Suddenly, the boys pour out of the bedroom and race to the pile of winter coats, boots, and snow pants
Hunter’s sister is one of the organizers. Hunter is an Athabascan from the Gwich’in-
by the door, noisily wriggle into them, and clunk
speaking region and has more relatives downriver
outside. Several feet of snow are waiting.
among the Koyukon speakers. Gwich’in means “people
“We get bored of playing video games,” Hunter
of the caribou,” and they speak one of eleven distinct
says. “Mostly I like to play outside, snowball fights and
Athabascan languages. Among all Alaska Native
making snowmen . . . sometimes I go out there and
groups, there are more Athabascans than any other.
just lay down. I’m used to the cold weather.”
Their traditional homeland covers the state’s Interior
Hunter lives in Fort Yukon—near where the Yukon
and beyond, even crossing over into Canada’s Yukon
River crosses the Arctic Circle—about 145 air miles
Territory. Of course, boundary lines drawn on maps
north of Fairbanks. It’s -2°F on this first day of spring.
hundreds of years ago meant nothing to Hunter’s
In winter, temperatures can hang out at -30°F or even
ancestors, nor to the four-legged animals, birds, and
Facing: Each snowy spring weekend, Fort Yukon hosts “Dog Derbies,” or short sled-dog races, near town. Hunter’s warm hat is made of marten fur. Above, left: Hunter owns an impressive collection of bear claws. Right: Tyler and family pile on the couch together: mom Diana, brother Tyler, and nephews Cody and Hammel.
23
Above, left: Practicing is fun when you love the guitar as much as Hunter does. Right: Even though he's young, Hunter has learned how to safely handle a firearm, a necessary skill he must acquire before he could go on his first hunt. Here, Hunter and his brother, Tyler, are looking for snowshoe hares—rabbits with extra-large hind feet.
fish that they depended on for food and clothing. Hunter is the youngest of four children, born more
Hunter’s Athabascan ancestors were mobile
than eleven years after the others. In a way, he’s like
people who traveled in bands and depended on each
an only child. His brother, Tyler, and sister, Corrina,
other and the natural world around them for survival.
bring him on their hunting trips and on sled-dog runs.
They used caribou and moose hides to make clothes,
This fall Hunter joined his uncles, cousins, and siblings
blankets, and boots. Beaver skins made mittens. Their
to boat and camp on the Black River during his first
temporary homes were dome-like tents of skins over
moose hunt.
bowed tree limbs. Then in 1847, a British-Canadian
“I think we spotted at least twelve moose,” Hunter
man set up a trading post here. Some Gwich’ins began
says. “You can’t kill a female, and you can’t kill a young
settling nearby for trade, and soon living in one place
one, because they might go extinct.” Rabbits, Hunter
became normal. Still, each summer families left for
says, are his favorite catch. He and Tyler have gotten
“fish camp” on the river, where they cut, then smoked
several this winter. “We bring them home for food.
or dried their catch. That tradition continues today.
They’re really good. Mom cooks them . . . she fries
The sight of an Athabascan fish wheel lazily turning in
them,” he says, joking, “Tastes like chicken!”
the river current is common. Salmon swim into giant
Bears routinely wander into Fort Yukon, and parents always look around before sending children or
24
scared of you than you are of them.”
baskets that lift them out of the water and gravity drops them into a container.
pets outside. Hunter knows his bear safety: “Let’s say
Those long-ago British and American traders left
if you see a bear,” he says, “always think, they’re more
traces of their cultures. The tradition of Athabascan
fiddling began with those non-Native travelers. Today
but we could hear each other, our language,” Flitt
no Fort Yukon potlatch, or community gathering, is
says. “Some of them are different, like our tradition is
complete without square dancing, waltzing, or jigging
king salmon and moose and all that, and way up in
to fiddle and guitar music. Athabascan skin-sewers
Arctic Village, that’s a caribou area. They’re caribou
also adopted beautiful floral patterns from French-
people. We grow up lots of different way. But we hear
Canadian designs. Women still use those patterns for
each other. We work together. It’s good people.”
beading flowers and leaves onto caribou or moose hide jackets, vests, and slippers. Hunter’s mother is a
Hunter knows the feeling of community, of ancestry, especially when he’s out on the land. “Yeah. It’s hard to explain,” he says. “I just feel like
skilled beader. Fort Yukon might not even be here today if one incredible plan had succeeded. As early as 1954, before Alaska statehood, developers and politicians were studying ways to build a hydroelectric dam on the Yukon River. If the dam had been built, nine Alaskan villages—including Hunter’s—would have been under water in the resulting 270-mile-long lake. It would have wiped out homes and destroyed habitat for uncountable salmon, bears, moose, caribou, sheep, and waterfowl in the Yukon Flats region. The potential disaster was averted in June 1967, when the U.S. Secretary of the Interior decided against the dam. Hunter goes to Fort Yukon Elementary, home of the Eagles, where the youngest grades share classrooms and the older grades have their own. Language arts and science are his favorite subjects. He likes learning words in the Gwich’in language too. That’s good news to elder William Flitt, who grew up here, learning from generations before him, including his grandmother, Fannie William, who lived to be 126. Flitt now teaches the younger generation by “talking, talking, talking” about survival and how to live a good life, whether it’s in Fort Yukon or another Gwich’in village. Each one is unique, yet connected. “There’s lots of different type of people in here, Hunter’s responsibilities at home include carrying wood for his mom. Their woodstove helps keep their home warm in winter.
I . . . like someone has been here before, someone related to me.”
UNANGAXˆ (ALEUT) Cyanna Bereskin Unalaska
It’s a blustery night on Unalaska Island, and
She straightens her fingers and “walks” along her leg
eleven-year-old Cyanna Bereskin and her sister Nellie
to demonstrate Little Guys walking around their little
are walking to Easter service at 11:30 p.m. The girls
city. Stacks of old VHS tapes make good houses too.
wear frilly dresses under warm coats and stay on the
The Bereskin house overlooks Iliuliuk Bay on this
sidewalk to keep their boots nice. They don’t have far
craggy, mountainous island, one of dozens in the
to walk because they live nearby—their dad is the
Aleutian Island chain reaching across the Pacific
Russian Orthodox priest at the historic Holy
Ocean for a thousand miles. The islands are dotted
Ascension Cathedral.
with the volcanoes (some still active!). Fewer than
Cyanna calls herself a tomboy and isn’t crazy about
5,000 people live in Cyanna’s town, also named
the clothes she’s wearing. “I’m not that girly,” she says.
Unalaska, where there’s lots of wind, but few trees. A
“I don’t like puffy dresses.” But Cyanna does love
bridge leads to Amaknak Island and the airport, hotel,
family and holiday traditions. She helped boil Easter
museums, and grocery store. Reality TV fans can drive
eggs to hand out at 3:00 a.m., when the service ends.
further out to Dutch Harbor and take pictures of the
And then comes the big family breakfast, getting out
huge crabbing boats featured on Deadliest Catch.
of that girly dress, and sleeping in. Cyanna also loves
(Cyanna prefers the cartoon channel.)
chasing her energetic puppy, learning the trombone,
But the island’s most photographed attraction is
and laughing with Nellie, especially when they play
her church, a National Historic Landmark from 1894
their made-up game called “Little Guy.”
with tall Russian crosses atop onion-shaped domes.
“We make little houses out of books.” Cyanna
Bald eagles often perch up there, feathers fluffing in
smiles as she explains. “Sometimes we use Barbie
the strong winds. During the Christmas Bird Count,
clothes, but we don’t even play with Barbie. We put
volunteers estimated 600-plus eagles around Unalaska.
the clothes on our fingers, little pants and dresses.”
When Cyanna enters church on Easter, it is dark.
Facing: Cyanna’s hometown and her island are both named Unalaska. Above, left: Russian Orthodox Easter here includes boiling eggs and giving them away after the church service. Right: Bundled up against the wind, Father Evon Bereskin and daughters Nellie and Cyanna stroll past the graves of ancestors.
27
Above, left: Cyanna and Nellie share ownership of their puppy. Right: Bald eagles seem to pose for tourists who arrive here to photograph Unalaska’s historic places and its migratory birds.
The little choir uses a single penlight to read their song sheets. Cyanna doesn’t sing but stands among
[buh-RA-buh-RAs],” Cyanna says. The semi-
them with her mom, Aquilina. A capella songs in
underground homes were supported with driftwood
English and Slavonic, the language of Russian worship,
in walls and ceilings. “And they made stuff out of
echo beautifully. Religious icons and centuries-old
weaving, like baskets.”
paintings glow as the people stand, men on the right and women on the left, throughout the long service. “If we get tired, we lay down on our coats,” Cyanna
Until contact, the people had known little change. They built skin-covered kayaks to hunt marine mammals for food and clothing. They hunted
says, speaking for the children, and Nellie does rest by
waterfowl, collected eggs, and gathered food from tide
her mother’s feet that night.
pools. They carved atlatls [AT-ul-AT-uls] to increase the
Cyanna’s mom is Yup’ik, while her dad is Aleut
speed and accuracy of their spears. They tattooed
[al-ee-OOT], a name given to his ancestors by Russians
their bodies—even their faces—using bone needles
who believed it meant “island” in the local language.
and sinew thread to sew soot under their skin.
Calling someone “Aleut” is fine, but many prefer their
28
“The Aleuts used to live in hills called barabaras
Because the Unangax̂ were the first of Alaska’s
original name, Unangax̂ [ooh-NAHN-gach], meaning
Native cultures to clash with foreigners, they may
“people.” They’ve lived on these islands at least 10,000
have lost the most. Before contact, as many as 12,000
years, too far back to count the generations. The
people lived in small villages along the chain. When
Unangax̂ first saw foreign explorers and hunters in the
Russians discovered the value of sea otter furs, they
mid-1700s, a time that’s called “contact.”
forced Native men to hunt for them. Many Natives
died from starvation, battle, and disease. By 1800,
but for some, their remote villages had been
only about 2,500 Unangax̂ remained, most with
destroyed in the fighting. The story isn’t found in
Russian surnames and a new religion. In time, their
most schoolbooks. Reminders from the war are
dances, language, and songs were nearly forgotten.
everywhere—from foxhole and trench scars on
Cyanna’s last name is Russian. And her first name honors a fifteenth-century Orthodox nun. But she’s also very interested in her Native heritage. She and
hillsides to rusting remains of gun turrets and ammunition storage. “What happened, happened,” says Cyanna’s dad,
other kids learn about their ancient history at culture
Father Evon. “In their mind, they were trying to
camps and in Unangax̂ class.
protect us.” He’s sad that the Unangax̂ experience is
“At camp, I weaved,” Cyanna says. “I made a doll too. They already made the body, and we sewed the
rarely taught outside of the Aleutians. As for Cyanna, she continues to gather the many
clothes and put on the hair out of fur and drew the
pieces of her heritage puzzle. In late July, she’ll attend
face.” Cyanna even added facial tattoos to her doll.
Camp Qungaayux̂ [COO-naye-ach] at Humpy Cove
The fifth-grader also competes in Native Youth
when pink salmon, or “humpbacks,” are running. Kids
Olympics. Her best events are the Alaskan High Kick
will learn how to net fish, mend nets, and weave.
and the Scissor Broad Jump, which is like a long jump,
They’ll make Aleut visors, preserve and prepare seal,
but one leg must cross behind the other once during
fish, and edible plants, and practice dancing, singing,
the run-up.
and the words of their first language, Unangam Tunuu.
Cyanna’s people survived those early foreign invasions by blending Russian culture in with their Native heritage. But a later foreign invasion was more devastating. During World War II, the Japanese dropped bombs on Unalaska and Amaknak in repeated attacks that began on June 3, 1942. Enemy soldiers also invaded Attu Island and captured a group of U.S. citizens—including Unangax̂ children— and took them to Japan as prisoners of war. The U.S. government then sent a military ship to collect the rest of the Unangax̂ along the Aleutian Chain and the Pribilof Islands and took them to two camps in Southeast Alaska, where they spent the remaining war years living in crowded, unclean conditions, far from their homes. Many died there. After the war, survivors were returned to Unalaska, A day after Easter, Cyanna’s family gathers for a portrait. At left are her Yup’ik grandparents, who were visiting from Kwethluk, Alaska. At right are the Bereskin sisters and their parents, Aquilina and Father Evon.
There’s a note of pride in Cyanna’s voice when she says, “I’m half-Yup’ik, half-Aleut . . . mostly English.”
TLINGIT Leah Moss Hoonah
Leah Moss unzips her snack baggie.
Leah lives in a roomy, woodstove-heated house.
It’s snowy outside, but the scent from the bag is salty
She gets good grades in Tlingit language class, and in
and summery, and far healthier than chips. It’s dried
basketball she’s a serious competitor. Most of all, she
seaweed and Leah loves it. She and her friend dip in,
loves singing and drumming. This summer she’ll join
then return to building their papier-mâché likeness of
the local dance group during “Celebration,” a four-day
the Mayan temple known as Xunantunich in Belize.
gathering of Tlingit, Haida, and Tsimshian people in
Leah frets about how to make tiny trees. “What could
Juneau. Leah laughs at Celebration videos from when
we use?” she asks her mom.
she was two, when she stole the show, fearlessly
Leah’s home is at least two plane rides (or a plane and a ferry ride) away from where most Alaskans live.
bobbing and weaving to ancestral songs. Extended family is everywhere. Like Leah, they
Still, with 750 residents, more than half of them
each know how they fit in their culture: moiety, clan,
Alaska Natives, Hoonah has the largest population of
and clan house groups. For millennia, these social
Tlingit [KLINK-it] people in the state. The Tlingit
groupings have governed how Tlingit identify who
homeland once included all of “Southeast,” the
they are and what is expected of them. Hoonah’s four
temperate rainforest along the southeastern coast,
primary clans are Chookaneidí, T’akdeintaan (Leah’s
and extended into Canada. That was before non-
clan), Wooshkeetaan, and Kaagwaantaan.
Natives discovered its furs, gold, salmon, timber, and
“Wanna see my paddle?” asks Leah, “I made this
more. Before foreigners explored and claimed and
with my daddy.” She holds up a carved canoe paddle
named its parts. Today most of Southeast is federally
painted with a Seagull, the crest of her clan house,
protected in the Tongass National Forest or Glacier
similar to the sub-clan in another culture. Moiety and
Bay National Park and Preserve, which together cover
clan membership is passed through the Tlingit
more than 20 million acres.
mother’s side. If your mother’s moiety is Eagle, you are
Facing: Leah Moss’s traditional regalia includes a hat woven from split-and-dried cedar bark strips. Above, left: Leah and a friend join her dad on a walk through their small town, where everybody knows each other. Right: In a traditional Tlingit dugout canoe, Leah and others hold their paddles upright, showing friendship.
31
Above, left: With the Ch’eet Screen behind them, Owen James and daughter Leah sing a Tlingit “entrance song” in the Yaakw Kahidi canoe house and shed. Right: With lots of practice, Leah has mastered both front and back flips on her trampoline.
an Eagle. Children learn clan stories, traditions, and
not Native, but as a cultural anthropologist for the
duties from their mom’s brother, another Eagle.
National Park Service, she teaches tourists about the
At school, Leah finds a seat in Tlingit language class, where signs all over the room attach Native
Kake, Alaska, a respected carver and culture-bearer
words to objects or photos. It’s nearly Valentine’s Day,
known as “Papa Owen” to the kids he teaches.
so today is about love. I likoodzí [Ee-tla-COOT-zee]
For Leah and her people, Hoonah is home. And
means “You are awesome (or amazing, wonderful).”
yet it isn’t their only home. For centuries, their
Ixsixán [Eex-si-xon] means “I love you.”
ancestors lived at the foot of a glacier about 30 miles
“It’s kinda hard pronouncing the underlined x’s
north, near what is now called Glacier Bay. There
and the pinched k’s,” Leah says. “The underlined x’s
they thrived on seals, deer, and salmon; cockles
are like, clearing your throat, and the k’s are like KA,
and mussels; berries and seaweed. They gazed at
real sharp. It doesn’t come easily.”
mountaintops draped with ice and snow. The Tlingit
Leah’s Tlingit name, Kooxwuduya [Koox-woo-doo-
32
Tlingit culture. Leah’s adoptive father is a Tlingit from
carved cedar canoes and paddles and mastered the
yuh], means “something brought back to its place of
dangerous currents between islands. They made art,
origin.” Like many Alaska Native women, Leah’s birth
raised families, and passed on their histories and
mother traveled to Anchorage to have her baby at the
legends by speaking them, generation to generation.
Alaska Native Medical Center. But as an infant, Leah
“What do you suppose it would have been like,
came back to Hoonah when tribal leaders approved
living that close to a glacier?” Mary Beth asks Leah,
Mary Beth as Leah’s adoptive mother. Mary Beth is
who answers, “Cool.” She doesn’t mean “cool” as in
“hip”—she means cold. Winds off the glacier would
shavings lie underfoot. While Leah listens, Owen
have chilled the village, and the nearness of an
explains the figures and what they mean: the four
advancing river of ice would have been ominous.
primary Huna clans, the glacier’s face, and the woman
One terrifying day, the glacier broke loose and ice
who sacrificed herself when the glacier overran the
roared toward the village. It moved, the story says, “as
winter village. Chains are for the period when the
fast as a running dog.” The people fled before their
Tlingit were kept from their homeland, after the
village was destroyed and narrowly escaped in dugout
U.S. government took it for public parkland. Healing
canoes, leaving ripples of sorrow in their wake. They
a century of hard feelings, tribal leaders and park
explored and finally chose the site of today’s Hoonah,
leaders made peace with the building of the
or Xunaa, which means “protected from the north
Ancestors’ House. Oral history has been recorded
wind.” Anthropologists like Leah’s mom listened to old
in this wood.
recordings, interviewed elders, and talked to scientists
One day this pole will be raised outside the
who studied tree rings to estimate historical dates.
Ancestors’ House in Glacier Bay. And years from now
They believe Hoonah was settled around 1754 . . . yet
the elements will weather Owen’s art, but the history
home for these Tlingit will always lie in Glacier Bay.
will not fade. And the story of the children who
One foggy morning in late August 2016, children
reclaimed their heritage, led by Leah, will live on.
wearing beautiful red-and-black regalia waited on Bartlett Cove of Glacier Bay as three hand-carved canoes approached the newly built tribal house, Xunaa Shuká Hít, or “Ancestors’ House.” The paddlers, also in traditional clothing, paused with their paddles upright, the sign of peace. From the canoes, elders called out centuries-old Tlingit greetings and asked permission to land. Leading the crowd on shore, Leah welcomed them in Tlingit. On that remarkable day, Leah’s people regained a sliver of their long-ago loss and celebrated in the grandly carved Ancestors’ House. Leah’s father, Owen, was among three craftsmen who spent years on the painted carvings. After school, Leah leads the way to her dad’s carving shed (after a brief stop to buy candy). The scent of fresh cedar fills the shed, and Owen is bent over a totem pole on supports. Curls of cedar They may look like rocks, but black oystercatcher eggs are collected for food. Because the eggs are camouflaged among beach rocks, predators often overlook them.
33
ALUTIIQ Alyson Seville Chenega Bay
The mail plane has come and gone
the Alaska Peninsula eastward across the islands of
in Chenega [chuh-NEE-guh] Bay, leaving shipping
Kodiak, part of the Kenai Peninsula, and along the
boxes that crowd Alyson Seville’s living room. They’re
coasts and islands of Prince William Sound. Alyson’s
jammed with good things to eat: crackers, mac and
ancestors were expert sailors who made kayaks,
cheese, cereal, rice, chips, cookies, and more. Mail-
skin-covered boats, to hunt for sea mammals. Today
order groceries are a way of life in Chenega Bay, where
the small-boat harbor holds commercial fishing boats
about seventy-five people live and where going
and smaller aluminum skiffs, including one that
grocery shopping often means salmon fishing or
belongs to her family.
hunting for deer, seal, geese, or ducks. The food they order by mail can’t be fresh or
Alyson’s parents and grandparents still depend on the ocean and the land for meat and fish. Her stepdad
frozen, so there’s no meat, milk, or ice cream, which
fills the freezer with duck and deer meat, but her
might melt or spoil during a flight delay. Still, mail
favorite food is “ba-sketti,” the way her mom makes it.
plane day feels like Christmas. Excited, ten-year-old
She’s learning how to hunt too.
Alyson and her little sisters are bent over, almost falling into the boxes as they pull out their favorites. For Alyson, it’s a brick of cheddar cheese. Alyson is an Alutiiq [ah-LOO-tick] girl living in
“One time I did geese hunting. I didn’t get any, but I was so close,” she says. “And I went seal hunting.” Beginning in the mid-1700s, Russians explored, traded, and married into this culture and others, so
Chenega Bay, her stepdad’s home village. Chenega
many villagers inherited Russian-sounding surnames.
means “beneath the mountain” in Sugt’stun [SOOK-
Through the work of long-ago Russian Orthodox
stoon]. Her mom is from Nanwalek, another Alutiiq
missionaries, communities like this one are proud
coastal village. Homeland for their people, who are
of their lovely blue-domed churches. Here, the
also known as Sugpiaq [SUG-pea-ak], stretches from
Nativity of the Thetokas church is known for its
Facing: Alyson’s family is from two different Alutiiq villages. In her dad’s home village of Nanwalek, she faces Kachemak Bay. Her other home is Chenega Bay on Prince William Sound. Above, left: The inside of her church displays the skills of many artists. Right: As the oldest child, Alyson gets to help with baking (and babysitting her three little sisters!).
35
Above, left: Where Alyson lives, the ocean doesn’t freeze. Tall mountains skirt the edges of the bay. Right: On January 7, Russian Christmas, Alyson joins her mom, Cybill Berestoff, in the “Starring” holiday tradition of walking, singing, and snacking from house to house.
craftsmanship, its mosaic floor, and elegant icons, and murals of Jesus and the Alaskan saints. Chenega Bay has a school, an airport, a medical
Alyson is the only fourth-grader at Chenega Bay School. Having the entire grade all to herself is “a little
clinic, and a ferry dock for the Alaska Marine
weird,” she says, but sharing a classroom with older
Highway. Unless you fly here in a small plane, boats
grades leads to faster learning. She loves school and
are the only way in or out. Each summer from
even plays School with her little sisters, teaching them
mid-May to mid-September, passengers can ride the
with flash cards and singing her ABCs. Someday she
ferry for four and a half hours to reach Whittier,
hopes to be a cook, an artist, and a singer.
which is on Alaska’s road system. Sailing to Kodiak Island takes fourteen hours. Alyson’s favorite time of year is summer, especially
“I like math,” Alyson says. “And I like to write and read.” On this winter day, a traveling science teacher has arrived to lead students in building shoe-sized
when the weekly ferry stops here. The on-board
motorized cars to race. Alyson crouches over her
restaurant is like a floating diner on their doorstep.
invention, trying different wheels to improve its
She and her friends tear down to the dock for a tasty
performance. Eventually it flies across the gym floor.
treat while passengers and freight come and go. “We go on the boat, and we get soda and stuff like
36
go fishing. It’s really cold when you first jump in.”
After school, Alyson leads a tour of Chenega Bay while Posey, her white kitty, daintily follows behind in
that, and milk,” Alyson says, “and we get chicken
the snow. Posey’s little nose and ears are pink from
strips and cheeseburgers. Sometimes when we’re
cold, but she’s a snow cat, never heading home, but
down there, we jump off the dock, and sometimes I
always following her girl. Even during a warm-up
inside the church, Alyson looks up to see Posey nosing
says. “Say like you’re singing to a baby, but not actually
the glass door, looking for her. Sorry, no cats in church.
singing to it. You add all that together.”
For close to ten centuries, Alyson’s ancestors lived on Chenega Island with their backs to the soaring, forested mountains and their faces to the cobalt blue of Prince William Sound. Then, on March 27, 1964, a 9.2-magnitude earthquake rocked Alaska. After the earthquake, a tsunami, or tidal wave, blasted the coast. In Kodiak, huge fishing boats were lifted out of the harbor and thrown down city streets. The massive wave flattened Valdez. Many died. But no place suffered greater than Chenega Bay, where more than a third of the residents were killed and their village wiped out. Those who survived the disaster moved to other towns. In 1984, after much planning, some of the survivors came together to build a new village on ancestral land on Evans Island, the current location. The new Chenega Bay faced danger again just a few years later. On March 24, 1989, an oil tanker called the Exxon Valdez went aground and spilled 10.8 million gallons of crude oil into Prince William Sound. Millions of birds, fish, and sea mammals died, and the Native people of the region lost their main food resources. Decades later, oil from that spill can still be found on nearby beaches. Some creatures have bounced back, like sea otters and humpback whales; others, like herring, have not. Sometimes when Alyson is down by the ferry dock, she listens for the singing of those humpback whales as they migrate past her village. Their sound is hard to describe, for scientists as much as for fourthgrade girls who are used to it. “They make that humming kind of sound,” Alyson Top: Plastic sleds move extra fast when the snow is coated with ice. Bottom: In January, the sun sets after only six hours of moving just above the horizon.
TSIMSHIAN James Williams Metlakatla
My name is James. My crest is Killerwhale.
“I am related to most of the island,” James jokes.
I am from Metlakatla.
This is the most southern community in Alaska,
I am from the House of the Blue-Billed Duck.
James Williams first speaks the words in
but it’s only been here since 1887, when an Anglican Englishman named Reverend William Duncan led 823 Canadian Tsimshian over the border to the
Sm’algyax, the language of the Ts’msyen, or Tsimshian
Territory of Alaska because he wanted more freedom
[sim-she-ANN] people. Quickly he follows with the
to worship than he had had in Canada. Before he
English translation. For this twelve-year-old boy from
built on Annette Island, Duncan asked for permission
Annette Island, the words are the roadmap of his
from a Tlingit chief, and then he traveled all the
identity.
way to Washington, D.C., to get permission from
“In the Tsimshian culture, there are four main clans: Eagle, Raven, Wolf, and Killerwhale,” James
U.S. President Grover Cleveland! James attends Charles R. Leask Sr. Middle School,
explains. “I am Killerwhale, but my father is Raven. We
where he is one of eighteen seventh-graders. He
always follow our mother’s clan, so all my siblings are
enjoys Native art class, language arts, shop, wrestling,
Killerwhale. It’s the only aquatic clan.”
cross-country, and working as the radio tech during
Like many kids, James represents a mix of cultures.
basketball games. He rides his bike or skateboards in
He’s Tsimshian, Tlingit, Mexican, Irish, and Italian, but
summers. In winters, there’s hardly any snow, so he
he identifies with his Tsimshian culture the most
loves to get around on his three-wheeled Sole Skates.
because it was inherited through his mother. That
James is the youngest of six kids. With the death
and because he’s from Metlakatla, population 1,400,
of their single mother, Mary Florence Gue, their eldest
where you must be part of a Tsimshian family to live
sister became the guardian of her siblings. Rebecca
on this federal reserve.
Gue is respected for modeling Tsimshian ways of
Facing: The symbol of the Killerwhale Clan graces James’s regalia. Behind him is his village of Metlakatla, reachable only by plane or boat. Above, left: James and his sisters, including two sets of twins, are a family bound together by the eldest, Rebecca Gue, in blue. Symbols of Killerwhale adorn each drum and the bentwood box that James holds. Right: James and his best friend strike a pose by a totem pole at their school.
39
Above, left: Metlakatla’s long house faces the ocean with a richly painted screen of Tsimshian images. Right: Geologists date the unique rocks of Annette Island’s Yellow Hill to the Cretaceous Period, more than 66 million years ago.
living for the kids. Aiding her are mentors—an aunt
faraway forest. They built a town hall, school, store,
and, as tradition dictates, the uncles of their
and a salmon cannery; they built boardwalks over
Killerwhale clan.
stumpy ground to connect homes. They posed for
In a family photo of the siblings, James has orange hair, but today it’s blue. That and his electric red pants offer splashes of color on an otherwise gray day,
century stiff collars, suits, and dresses. “The people agreed not to potlatch, dance, sing,”
when the steely saltwater seems to merge with
says Rebecca, James’s sister. “They had to leave that
mountain mist and sky. Even the brightly painted long
all behind. So when they came here, they did give it
house seems muted as James climbs the deck railings,
up, but they were doing singing, dancing, potlatching
stretching out his long legs.
in secrecy.” One man who saw no evil in the old ways
“I’ve had red, orange, pink, and yellow hair,” James
was Sidney Campbell. Like James and his siblings,
says, smiling. “For me, it really depends on what
he was from the Killerwhale clan. Through the early
holiday is coming up.”
1900s, as he was serving as a church leader, Campbell
How different from the grim-faced black-andwhite photos of his ancestors. Perhaps because their lives were harder. Back in Canada, Reverend Duncan
40
formal photos, looking very English in nineteenth-
also secretly carved, made regalia, drummed, and danced with other Tsimshian people. James likewise finds no conflicts between his life as
declared their Native beliefs and practices unholy and
a Tsimshian and a Christian. He and his friends attend
unwelcome. They abandoned their Tsimshian culture
more than one church youth group. At Metlakatla
and their homeland to create a new home in a
Presbyterian Church, a framed newspaper photo
features James and other local dancers. “I’ve only been dancing for three years,” James says,
He’s been practicing the distinctive shapes of Tsimshian artistry: the boxy eyes, sweeping wings, fins,
“but I do love expressing my culture and who I am.”
claws, beaks, and ears of the creatures his ancestors
Several Native dance groups are active around town,
have illustrated for centuries. They can be seen on
including Ts’maay (“Ancestors”), Git Leeksa Aks
totem poles all over this town and in the regalia at
(“People of the Rising Tide”), and Git Susit’aama
potlatches that stretch over four days.
(“People of a New Beginning”). Near the dancers’ photo is a framed proclamation
“I finished up S designs, and I have to do N box designs next,” James says, comparing the softer lines
from the church’s state leadership. Written in
of wings to the hard edges around eyes. “Then I have
October 1991, it’s an apology to all Alaska Natives:
to do animal heads, which would be Eagle, Raven,
“ . . . we disavow those teachings which led people to
Wolf, and Killerwhale.” He can’t wait to move on to
believe that abandoning Native culture was a
carving wood. They’ll begin with a spoon and go on
prerequisite for being Christian.”
to bigger pieces, eventually to totem-carving. His
In the six decades after Reverend Duncan died, more and more Tsimshian were leaning toward their
teacher is impressed by how fast James is advancing. “He asked me how I do what I do. I tell him it’s in
Tsimshian ways and language. In the early 1980s, artist
my blood, in my genes, because a lot of my family has
David Albert Boxley helped his people in their
done Native art,” James says. “We all love to embrace
journey, reaching out to Canadian relatives for advice.
our culture.”
In 1986, Metlakatla hosted its first potlatch, a celebratory feast with Native singing, dancing, drumming, and storytelling. The people reclaimed some of what was lost. Back home, James’s teenaged sister is nested in a chair, her lap covered with yards of red-and-black material. She is adding buttons to a Killerwhale robe. Displayed among family photos are other handmade regalia pieces, including an exquisitely carved Killerwhale headpiece, which is worn at potlatches. “We’re lucky because this is all we’ve known. We were raised in it,” Rebecca says. “But for them [older cousins], it was a totally new thing. We’re taking what we know and using it, but we’re ever evolving, creating new traditions while we’re at it. We’re still learning.” James flips through his Native art sketchbooks. James is already showing great skill in Tsimshian art and looks forward to carving wooden masks, boxes, and totems someday.
SIBERIAN YUPIK Allyssa Asicksik
Anchorage and Savoonga
When Allyssa Asicksik says she’s going
and either location is great for her favorite nine-year-
home, she might be talking about Anchorage, Alaska’s
old activities: making Slime, baking cookies and
biggest city, where she has a bedroom in two different
cupcakes, building forts in the living room, and
houses. There’s one at her mom and stepdad’s house
hosting sleepovers.
and another at her dad and stepmom’s house. Then
“Me and my friends usually go to sleep at two
again, Allyssa might be talking about her other home,
o’clock in the morning,” Allyssa says with a smile.
Savoonga [suh-VOON-guh], population 800. It’s one
“One time we had five girls.”
of only two Siberian Yupik communities remaining on
Each year, Allyssa’s family makes several trips to
St. Lawrence Island, far from Anchorage, way out in
their island, where a wide network of loved ones
the Bering Sea.
welcomes them. There’s freedom in a place you can
“I would describe it as small, not big,” the fourth-
“play out,” as Allyssa calls it, where you can roam and
grader says simply. Allyssa doesn’t go into detail about
play snowy games while grown-ups quietly keep watch.
how her island is closer to Russia—just 35 miles
“I can yell as much as I want,” Allyssa says, “and
away—than mainland Alaska. Or that St. Lawrence
walk all over. I made my own slide. But I don’t go on
Island is home to the most talented fossil ivory carvers
my butt, I go on my feet, with my boots.”
in the world, including her big brothers. They dig up
This summer, she’s looking forward to riding
the tusks and bones of long-dead marine mammals
four-wheelers (which are all called “Hondas”) to
and create amazing art for galleries. Or how generations
explore an inland waterfall she’s never seen. Her island
of her family have been reindeer herders. Even now.
is treeless and rocky, and while it may look barren to
Home “here” and home “there” are 700 miles
an outsider, the sky, sea, and land are very much alive.
apart, and each marks a special piece of Allyssa’s
For thousands of years, Siberian Yupiks have survived
identity. She has family and friends in both places,
on marine mammals and birds, reindeer meat, and
Facing: In Anchorage, Allyssa loves to explore the Alaska Native Heritage Center, where life-sized replicas of traditional Native homes teach visitors about various cultures. Above, left: Inside a model sod home, Allyssa’s mom, Yaari Toolie, explains how a simple stone lamp could light and warm a small space. Right: Using a sharp ulaaq, Allyssa’s Aunt Laurie cuts bite-sized pieces of mangtak, bowhead whale skin and blubber, a favorite food.
43
Above, left: Anchorage is as much like St. Lawrence Island as moose are like baby seals. Still, as different as they are, the two hometowns are just right for Allyssa. Right: Back on the island, her family includes skilled ivory carvers and a long line of reindeer herders.
tundra harvests. The weather is infamous—some-
live in Anchorage than in all the rest of the state.
times delivering sideways snow that can ground the
Natives move there for jobs, for travel and shopping,
small planes traveling to and from the nearest
or for access to medical care. And although they are
mainland city of Nome. Other times the sky is so
far from home, the St. Lawrence Island people living
sunny and bright that you can’t see without sun-
in Anchorage bring along their favorite traditions
glasses or goggles. The people all know each other
and foods.
and look forward to dancing, drumming, singing, and eating together. Allyssa’s favorite Native food is bowhead whale
long ago that she’s gotten used to its size. Still, Yaari wanted to make sure that her kids didn’t lose
mangtak [MUNG-tuk], the skin and blubber. Her face
connection with their culture. So Allyssa attends the
lights up when she hears the word. Even Allyssa’s kitty
Alaska Native Culture Charter School, and her
shares her love of Native food, especially walrus and
Anchorage home regularly hosts St. Lawrence people
mangtak. The kitty’s name perfectly reflects her
for banquets of walrus, mangtak, fry bread, and more.
cravings: Neqepik, which means “traditional foods.”
“Remember how we do in our culture?” Yaari asks
When Neqepik hears Allyssa’s mother cutting meat
Allyssa. Together, they recall the hours it takes to
with her ulaaq [OO-lock] knife, the cat comes running.
prepare for their guests. All the meat must be cut into
Allyssa’s other home, Anchorage, with its diverse population of nearly 300,000, is sometimes called “Alaska’s biggest Native village.” More Alaska Natives 44
Allyssa’s mom, Yaari Toolie, moved to the city so
bite-sized pieces in advance. “You sit on the floor with cardboard and ulaaq,” Allyssa explains. “We cut [the meat] and we put it in
piles on trays.” During a feast, Allyssa helps carry
were not allowed to enter. With government changes
trays to serve, first elders, then adults, and finally,
in 1989, the Siberian Yupiks on each side of the Bering
the youngest.
Strait saw each other again for the first time.
This summer, Allyssa is spending time with her mom
“What was great was that these people knew what
at the Alaska Native Heritage Center in Anchorage,
clan they belonged to, so that’s how we located our
where Yaari works sharing the St. Lawrence Island Yupik
lost families,” Yaari says.
culture with busloads of tourists. Visitors wandering
Allyssa has six big brothers, all of them much older
through the ANHC and its outdoor displays often ask
than she. Her parents had hoped for more children.
Yaari about the beautiful tattoos on her face and
Finally they got their wish when she was born to
arms. St. Lawrence Island women wore chin tattoos
other family members on the island, and they happily
for centuries, but the custom faded away. “I was
adopted her. Along with her Siberian Yupik birth,
scared, but I had to do it,” Yaari says. Even Allyssa was
Allyssa is truly a mixing bowl of cultures. Her
ready to join the ancient tradition when she was tiny.
stepfather is African American and Apache Indian.
“She mimicked me when she was about two years
Her birth grandfather was a Tlingit baby adopted by a
old,” Yaari says with a laugh. “I saw she had used a
Siberian Yupik couple. Now she is learning about her
marker to mark herself.” Sitting nearby, Allyssa smiles,
stepmother’s Native culture: twice a week, Allyssa
even though she doesn’t remember.
practices Tsimshian dancing in Anchorage.
Traditions of St. Lawrence Island include
Whatever the location, whatever the culture, as
membership in a clan. Allyssa is a member of the
long as Allyssa is with the people she loves, she will
Aymaaramka [uh-MAR-um-guh] clan, which means
always be at home.
“strong people.” Unlike those in the Southeast Alaska moieties, their clans do not include animal crests, and membership is handed down through the fathers instead of the mothers. Allyssa’s grandmother’s clan is Qiwwaghmii [key-WAH-a-mee], or “people of the other side.” That’s the other side of the Bering Strait—in Siberia, Russia—where relatives have lived for centuries and still do. They share many customs and understand each other’s language. At least once a year, the families on each side get to visit. “At one point we lost contact with them for over fifty years,” Yaari says, remembering when eastern Russia was part of the Soviet Union, and Americans Allyssa’s mother decided to tattoo her chin in the same way St. Lawrence Island women have done for centuries. Her body art leads friendly tourists to ask about her culture.
GLOSSARY IÑUPIAT [en-NEW-pee-at] The People
UNANGAX̂ [ooh-NAHN-gach] Person
Aana [AH-nuh] Grandmother
Aleut [al-ee-OOT] Another name for a person from the Unangax̂ culture
Aqutuq [uh-qoo-tooq] Eskimo ice cream, made from whipping animal fat and berries; sometimes shredded meat or boiled fish flakes are added Iñupiaq [en-NEW-pee-ack] An individual, the culture, or the language of Alaska’s northernmost people Muktuk [MUCK-tuck] Whale skin and blubber, usually eaten raw or frozen Uġruk [OO-gruck] Bearded seal
EYAK [EE-yack] People, or Human Beings Eyak Now-extinct language of the Eyak people. The last Native speaker, Marie Jones, died in 2008.
YUP’IK [YOU-pick] Real Person Cup’ik [CHOO-pick] A dialect of the Yup’ik language Manaqing [mahn-OCK-ing] Ice fishing Ulaq [OO-lock] Curved knife, sometimes called “ulu” Yugtun [YOUX-toon] Language of Yup’ik people
HAIDA [HI-duh] People Haida Ancestral language of the Haida people Haida Gwaii [HI-duh GWHY] Islands of the People, formerly known as the Queen Charlotte Islands of British Columbia, Canada; also the name for Haidas who reside there Kaigani Haida [kigh-GONE-ee HI-duh] Alaskan Haida whose ancestors migrated from Haida Gwaii
Atlatl [AT-ul-AT-ul] Carved wood “throwing stick” used to increase the speed and accuracy of spears Barabara [buh-RA-buh-RA] Semi-subterranean traditional home with driftwood supporting the walls and ceiling Qungaayux̂ [COO-nay-ach] Pink salmon, or “humpies” Slavonic Language of songs and worship in Russian Orthodox Church Unangam Tunuu Language of the Unangax̂ (Aleut)
TLINGIT [KLINK-it] People of the Tides Hoonah clans Chookaneidí [Chew-cun-ay-DEE] T’akdeintaan [Duck-dane-tawn] Wooshkeetaan [Woosh-key-tawn] Kaagwaantaan [Cog-wahn-tawn] I likoodzí [Eee-tla-COOT-zee] “You are awesome (or amazing, wonderful).” Ix̂six̂án [Eex-si-xon] “I love you.” Kooxwuduya [Koox-woo-doo-yuh ] “Something brought back to its place of origin.” Xunaa Shuká Hít Ancestors’ House Xunaa Protected from the North Wind, the tribal name for the village of Hoonah
ALUTIIQ [Uh-LOO-tick] True Person
ATHABASCAN [ath-uh-BASK-un] People
Chenega [chuh-NEE-guh] “Beneath the Mountain”
Gwich’in [GWITCH-un] “People of the Caribou”; also one of eleven distinct Athabascan languages within Alaska’s Interior
Chenega Bay One of many communities within the Chugach region Sugt’stun [SOOK-stoon] Language of Alutiiq people Sugpiaq [SUG-pea-ak] Another tribal name for the Alutiiq people
46
TSIMSHIAN [sim-she-ANN] Inside the Skeena River (ancestral homeland in Canada) Git Leeksa Aks [Git lay-icksha aksh] “People of the Rising Tide,” a dance group’s name Git Susit’aama [git sue-sit-am-mah] “People of a New Beginning,” a dance group’s name Sm’algvax [Sim-al-gyuck] Language of the Tsimshian, meaning “true language” Ts’maay [tsim-may] “Ancestors,” a dance group’s name Ts’msyen [tsim-sean] Tribal name for Tsimshian
SIBERIAN YUPIK People Apa [Ah-pa] Grandfather Aymaaramka [uh-MAR-um-guh] Clan name for “Strong People” Mangtak [MUNG-tuk] Skin and blubber of whale, usually eaten raw or frozen Ulaaq [OO-lock] Curved cutting tool (Don’t say “ulu.” In this language, it means “tongue”—which can also be a cutting tool.) Qiwwaghmii [key-WAH-a-mee] Clan name for “People of the Other Side” St. Lawrence Island Yupik Language of Alaska’s Siberian Yupik people OTHER TERMS: Clan In Tlingit, Haida, and Tsimshian cultures, clans or clan houses are identified by the crest of an animal, fish, bird, reptile, or insect. Membership is passed from mother to child. It’s different in the Siberian Yupik culture, where clans are identified by a descriptive name, and membership is passed through fathers. These clans do not claim a crest such as those in southeastern Alaska.
Moiety The first division of a people group that identifies each member’s place in society. In the Tlingit culture, people are born into the Eagle or Raven/Wolf moieties, depending on which moiety their mothers are from. Likewise, through their mothers, the Haida people are born either Raven or Eagle. The Tsimshian people also inherit their kinship from their mothers, dividing into one of four phratries (similar to moieties): Killerwhale (Blackfish), Wolf, Raven, and Eagle. Strict social rules define roles for each moiety, from taking care of each other, to training children, to hosting potlatches, to dividing wealth. Potlatch Cultural gatherings with well-defined rules and with varied functions. In southeastern cultures, they are feasts which include gift-giving, stories, adoptions into clans, memorials, dancing and drumming, and an overall celebratory time to express tribal pride. In the Athabascan culture, they are area gatherings with deep historical ties. Depending on the community, they may include storytelling, old-time fiddling and jig dancing, waltzes, or traditional tribal dances. Again, sharing food is a central part of the celebration. In the Gwich’in Athabascan region, the word is pronounced POT-lotch; in Southeast, it’s POT-latch. Regalia Ceremonial clothing and objects unique to each culture. Tlingit, Haida, and Tsimshian people wear their formal regalia during the Juneau dance gathering called Celebration, as well as for local potlatches recognizing totem pole-raisings, memorials, weddings, and other joyous occasions. Athabascan, Unangax̂, Yup’ik, Alutiiq, Eyak, Siberian Yupik, and Iñupiat people each wear their culture’s unique clothes, headgear, gloves, and/or footwear when they come together for special dances and other occasions.
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Tricia Brown has written and edited dozens of books since she first made Alaska her home in 1978. In a career that evolved from newspapers to magazines to book publishing, her writing is inspired by Alaska, reflected in nearly thirty titles on Native cultures, dog mushing, Last Frontier living, reference, and travel. Among Tricia’s ten children’s books are reader favorites, such as The Itchy Little Musk Ox, Groucho’s Eyebrows, and Charlie and the Blanket Toss. She travels often for school and library visits, where she urges students to water the creative seeds inside of them. Tricia and her husband Perry make their home in Anchorage with their granddaughter, Kierra, and a naughty-but-darling golden retriever named Willow. See www.triciabrownbooks.com. As one of Alaska's accomplished photojournalists, Roy Corral has traveled extensively throughout the Far North's remote regions photographing and writing about remarkable people and places for more than three decades. His photographic images have appeared in National Geographic and Forbes, and are also on display at the Smithsonian Arctic Studies Center, Anchorage Museum, and the Alaska Native Heritage Center. Roy is the former photo editor of Alaska, and his stories were published in Alaska and First Alaskans magazines. His collaborative book projects include Alaska Native Ways, My Denali, A Child's Glacier Bay, Children of the Midnight Sun, and Chugach: Reflections of the People, Land and Sea. Roy calls Eagle River, Alaska, home.
Facing: In winter, the sun is just a ball of color in the sky and offers little warmth.